


A Picture Tells (Thomas)

by dendriticgold



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1435489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendriticgold/pseuds/dendriticgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy is shocked when his bi-annual delivery of pornographic male photocards includes a man with a very familiar face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Picture Tells (Thomas)

Jimmy took the letter from Carson's hand with a perfectly neutral expression and a brief nod of thanks. With only the briefest of glances at the familiar (fake) return address on the back, Jimmy knew with absolute certainty he wouldn't be opening this particular letter at the breakfast table. Still, he waited until Carson had delivered letters to his immediate neighbors at the table before nonchalantly tucking the letter inside his jacket; eager to not arouse suspicion by rushing to conceal it, while at the same time making it clear questions regarding the letter's origins were not welcome.

'Everything alright Jimmy?'

Jimmy glanced up diagonally towards Thomas, finding him leaning across the table in an effort to avoid Carson hearing the improper use of his nickname, looking genuinely concerned. Jimmy fought to re-set his facial expression, realising that in his efforts to not appear too happy at the letter's arrival he had gone too far the other way and managed to look uncomfortable. And, of course, Thomas had noticed.

'Everything's fine, Mr Barrow.' Said Jimmy smartly before excusing himself to follow Alfred towards the kitchen.

The rest of the day was a torturous drag, with Jimmy repeatedly checking his pocket to make sure the letter was there (skipping the odd heart-beat here and there when his fingers did not immediately find it's edges upon delving in to look for it) and desperately longing for the moment when he could finally open it.

Alfred would never know how close he came to being pushed down the stairs that evening when he chased after Jimmy as he headed up to the attic once they were dismissed. Luckily, Alfred merely wanted to know where Jimmy had left his playing cards.

Jimmy tossed out the mercifully short answer 'On top of the piano' over his shoulder as he continued on his way.

He gave a very audible sigh at the sound of the bedroom door clicking shut behind him a few minutes later. Resting his back against the wood, Jimmy half-chuckled and half-moaned to himself in relief at finally being alone.

He could have safely ripped open the letter immediately.

But, now that the moment was upon him, he found himself engaging in the pleasurable and familiar routine of 'making ready' for it.

It was only mid-way through the previous year that he had discovered and subscribed to this particular correspondence, so had only received two such letters before. But already the routine was fairly fixed; his uniform came off to be replaced by the soft thinness of his night wear, his face was washed, his hair brushed, as though ready for bed, everything in the room had to be put away and perfectly tidy, a tumbler of illicit gin had to be poured and ready on the nightstand alongside a couple of handkerchiefs which were unfolded ready for use and the main light of the room switched off to leave just the small lamp by his bedside.

He reclined back on the bed, propping up his head and upper back against the frame of the bed with the spare pillow that usually lived on the chair by the fireplace (another part of the routine), legs stretched out lazily on top of the bed covers, the bare soles of his feet rubbing pleasantly over the woolen blanket beneath them, the slight parting of his thighs stretching the fabric of his pyjama bottoms across his groin brushing against the skin beneath by manner of promise to himself of what was to come. The cord on his bottoms, undone from the moment he had put them on, rolled gently across his hips as he shifted his weight a little to get comfortable.

He turned the letter over in his hands, regarding it carefully before grinning and briefly leaning over on his side to take a swallow of gin. The sting in his throat thrilled him as he sank back again, the letter still held aloft.

He wanted to open it, but at the same time he didn't, because the sooner he opened it the sooner the initial excitement would fade; leaving him with another six months or so until he could next look forward to 'fresh' material.

With a deep breath he finally allowed his finger to slide under the flap of the envelope.

And there they were, wrapped in a blank piece of paper masquerading as a letter, a small pack of postcard-sized photographs; each one containing the delicious prospect of at least one (sometimes two) beautiful and completely naked men.

Jimmy pondered only briefly, as was obligatory under the circumstances, the potential implications of his heady anticipation at that juncture. It was actually an issue he had once gone as far as to broach with Thomas, at a late hour after a few too many. Jimmy had relayed, while Thomas had listened, the fact that he found he could appreciate, to put it delicately, the nude male aesthetic. He hadn't gone so far as to admit he actively sought out such images. Thomas had responded with a characteristically glib but, at the same time, desperately sage observation regarding the merits of appreciating beauty in all it's forms; before quickly asserting that no one (i.e. he, Thomas) should or would read too much into someone (i.e. he, Jimmy) finding the male form visually appealing. Jimmy knew the words were spoken more to reassure him that Thomas would not take their conversation as leave to resume the inappropriate touches and comments of the previous year, and not as a reassurance that the urge to look at naked men didn't necessarily have any implications beyond 'appreciating beauty in all it's forms'; but Jimmy took the latter interpretation of Thomas's words more to heart than the former regardless.

Yes he knew he may be  _slightly_  deluding himself.

But, he reasoned, masturbating to a photograph of some anonymous bloke was hardly a solid basis upon which to assert his desire for a  _relationship_  with one.

He didn't  _want_ a relationship with anyone.

Nor was he obliged to have one, he reminded himself, effectively ending the brief moment of reflection; the ability to unashamedly live 'the single life' was one of the few benefits of going into service.

Pausing briefly to wet his whistle again with the gin on the nightstand, Jimmy unwrapped the folded paper and discarded it on the floor by the bedside. This was the one piece of 'untidiness' permitted; the blank paper abandoned on the floor something akin to a discarded piece of lover's clothing in it's suggestiveness, and Jimmy liked it. With a broad smile Jimmy held the small bundle of sepia photo cards in his hands and began to work his way through them.

The first depicted two men side by side, not touching save for one man's hand resting on the other man's shoulder. Neither were particularly attractive, nor was there anything sensual about their pose (they stood simply, square on to the camera) or expressions, but their nudity alone was enough to entice a pleasant undulation in Jimmy's body. There was something about seeing the unclothed men, having the power to look wherever he pleased, while they simply stood there for his inspection.

The second photo was of a man stretched out on his front on what appeared to be an animal hide, with the _man's_  hide also in pleasantly full view. The third had another couple, only this time the two men sat sharing a chaste kiss on a chaise longue, their hands clasped in the space between them, their penises neglected but visible in their laps.

Jimmy paused before moving on to the fourth and final photograph, pleased by the pictures he had seen so far, his body begging him to select one and finally attend to the matter of his arousal, but not wanting to end the titillation of the unknown too soon.

He sat up in shock at the sight of the last one, narrowly avoiding upsetting the glass on his nightstand as he flung out an arm to prop himself up.

He stared at it in complete and utter wonder.

It was a man, as naked as the others, standing at a slight angle to the camera with his back up against what appeared to be a ruined classical column that could have come from a site on the tourist trail through ancient Greece and Rome, but was in fact a plaster reproduction. The man was lean, but not overly so, the tautness of the muscles at his thighs, upper arms and stomach noticeable but not overpowering in appearance. In the glow of the sepia tones the man's pale skin matched the colour of the prop with eerie ethereal precision. The beauty of the image alone would have been enough to have him jumping to attention, but that wasn't the reason he regarded the photograph in wide eyed astonishment.

He brought his eyes back up from the contours of the body and to the man's face again, just to ensure his imagination had not deceived him.

It hadn't.

The man was Thomas.

He was absolutely sure of it.

The hairstyle was a little different, the black hair being swept more forward against his face than it had ever been since Jimmy had known him, and the face itself a good deal younger than the one Jimmy regularly beheld sitting opposite him in the servant's hall, but it  _was_  Thomas.

'Oh my God…' Jimmy whispered to himself, forgetting both to breathe and to blink as he took in the realisation that here in his hand was the undeniable visual of everything Thomas had to offer.

His eyes travelled downwards again, drinking in every detail, details that were all the more astonishing to view given that he had never seen Thomas anything other than impeccably dressed save for two occasions (during the 'incident' and after the fair, both of which Jimmy preferred not to think on).

He found himself fascinated by the hair at Thomas's chest and belly, something which was not usually present on the photographs of this nature he received (having led him to wonder on previous occasions if the men deliberately shaved it for the purposes of the picture). His eyes, naturally, lingered at the sight of Thomas's penis against his thigh for quite some time; unable to believe he was actually  _seeing_  it, something so private and personal.

He didn't know if he was surprised or not at the beauty of Thomas's body; realising that he had never actually thought on the notion of what Thomas may look like without his clothes. Now it was  _all_  he could think of.

Jimmy realised he was blushing, feeling his skin growing hot under his thin clothes as he looked at the picture.

'Could I…?' He thought tentatively to himself.

'Well why the fuck not?' A slightly more forceful voice asserted in his head.

He was alone. And no one would know.

And his body  _definitely_  approved.

Deciding all other considerations could wait for the present, Jimmy retrieved the tumbler of gin from the nightstand and sank the rest of it's contents in a single swallow before settling himself back against the pillow, tugging his pyjama bottoms impatiently down his thighs as he did so.

Ordinarily his penis demanded a gentle teasing through the fabric of his clothes before being willing to harden for more vigorous attention, but tonight it would seem that was not going to be an issue in the slightest. He found himself almost fully hard before his hand even made contact with the skin.

His lips parted to emit a low moan of arousal as his erection burned under his palm and fingers as he wrapped his hand tightly around it, tugging downwards. The skin bunched and slipped deliciously as he slid his hand up and down the shaft. He found no need to bother with the usual flourishes of twists and teases to draw out the build of pressure in his groin as he masturbated, his eyes fixed on the photograph clutched over his chest before his eyes in his spare hand.

His eyes travelled wickedly over everything the photograph had to offer, his conscience suffering only the slightest twinge as he shamelessly drew pleasure from the image of Thomas completely exposed.

He reasoned that such photographs were made with the sole purpose of being enjoyed.

Besides, the face of the young Thomas in the picture was smiling, encouraging, undeniably happy to see him.

Forced to briefly close his eyes against the sweat that trickled down his brow, having no hands free to attend to it, Jimmy came with a soundless cry, every muscle in his body contracting violently at the potency of his release.

Utterly sated, Jimmy relaxed back against the pillows, staring in bewilderment at the photograph in his hand; the others, long forgotten, crushed under his hip against the bed sheets.

When darkness fell the next night, after a day spent simultaneously avoiding but unable to resist looking in Thomas's direction, Jimmy felt compelled to travel the short distance across the corridor in the attic to Thomas's room after lights out.

It hadn't taken him long to come to the decision that he must ask Thomas about the photograph, in fact that particular thought had been fixed in his mind since the second he had laid eyes on it.

He waited for a moment before knocking to practice the story he had concocted, (feeding on from the discussion he and Thomas had previously had about appreciating 'the male aesthetic') about a 'friend' having sent him a set of photographs as a joke, one more time before questioning Thomas about the image.

'Imagine my surprise when I recognised you, Thomas!' He thought to himself with a small half-smile. 'I resolved to come and speak with you about it directly!'

He knocked.

'Jimmy?' Said Thomas in surprise as he opened the door, flooding the dark corridor outside with light. 'What brings you here?' He said quietly, peering past Jimmy and into the corridor outside to see if there was anyone else about.

'There's something I need to talk to you about.' Said Jimmy, offering a reassuring smile. 'Might I come in for a moment?'

Thomas blinked in astonishment at Jimmy, of all people, having turned up at his room after hours requesting entry. But he immediately stepped back to motion Jimmy inside, closing the door with a soft click after him.

'Sorry, I wasn't expecting company…' Thomas said, indicating the clothes strewn on the desk in preparation for mending.

'It's fine.' Said Jimmy, unable to keep his eyes from surreptitiously travelling up and down the length of Thomas's pyjama clad body.

'So…is everything alright?' Said Thomas, his brow furrowed a little in concern.

'Yes.' Said Jimmy immediately. 'Well, sort of. There's something I need to…ask you about.'

'Right.' Said Thomas slowly.

'It's like this you see…' Jimmy began, briefly debating the notion of taking a seat but deciding that his nervous energy much favored remaining standing. Evidently Thomas felt the same. '…my friend sent me a set of photo cards.'

'Right…'

'Following on from what we were discussing before, about…looking at men.' Jimmy continued.

He saw something shift behind Thomas's expression but Thomas's repetition of his usual prompt 'Right…' was still perfectly level.

'This was among them…' Jimmy said, offering the photograph in his hand. '…and I…I'm sure you can imagine why I wanted to ask you about it.'

Thomas frowned, taking the photograph from Jimmy and turning it over.

Instantly the frown dropped away, to be replaced by no expression at all save for a slight parting of his lips, his face became ashen.

'Thomas?' Jimmy said tentatively.

'Where did you get this?' Said Thomas, his voice chocked and unsteady, his hand trembling as he held the photograph up between them.

'I…I told you.' Said Jimmy, unnerved by Thomas's reaction. 'A friend sent it to me?'

'And what's the name of this  _friend_?' Thomas demanded.

Jimmy found himself taking an involuntary step back in surprise at the look on Thomas's face. The man looked utterly horrorstruck.

'Toby.' Said Jimmy, enunciating the first name that came to mind.

'And where did Toby get it?' Thomas persisted, the shaking in his hand becoming more marked and yet he did not lower the photograph as he continued to stare at it.

'I don't know.' Said Jimmy truthfully. 'He deals in…lots of photographs of this nature I believe.'

Without another word, Thomas stepped back and sank down to sit on his bed, discarding the photograph on the sheet beside him as he hunched forwards, burying his head in his hands.

'Thomas what's…what's wrong?' Said Jimmy in alarm, taking a few tentative steps towards him. 'I mean…you must have known this photograph was taken. You're  _smiling_  at the bloody camera.' He said by way of joke.

Thomas didn't laugh. Nor did he look up.

Jimmy had a horrible feeling the man was crying.

'Thomas what is it?' He said, surprised to feel his own lip trembling at Thomas's misery.

'Nothing I'll tell you.' Came the flat reply as Thomas raised his head to reveal, as expected, he was indeed crying. 'Just…please leave.'

'No.' Said Jimmy. 'Thomas you're…you're worrying me.' He moved to sit beside Thomas. After a moment's hesitation he wrapped an arm around his shoulders, grimacing at the tension he felt there, feeling utterly rotten. 'Tell me, please.'

'It's none of your concern.' Said Thomas shakily, sniffing and rubbing at the tears on his cheek with the back of his hand, remaining hunched over his knees.

'Thomas, please.' Said Jimmy. 'I'll not leave you like this.'

Thomas's face disappeared into his hands again for a long time before he raised his head to speak.

'Do try not to be so stiff.' Philip laughed from his position behind the cameraman.

'I'm trying.' Thomas asserted, unable to keep the awkward grimace from his face as he once again backed up against the fake column set up amid a swath of hanging red drapes by way of backdrop on the far side of the room, his arms protectively draped over his front, symbolically more than literally shielding himself from view as his skin prickled unpleasantly at the coolness of the room.

'Well try harder, love. This gentleman has other clients to attend to.'

'Oh no, your Grace.' The cameraman simpered. 'I wouldn't dream of rushing something commissioned by your good self. It's not every day the likes of me gets to cater for the Duke of Crowborough.'

'Yes, the pay packet must be rather appealing.' Thomas thought darkly to himself as he watched Philip shoot the man one of his dashing smiles.

'Well I am most glad someone of your talents was able to accommodate my request.' Said Philip warmly to the man.

Thomas fidgeted in his place across from them, none too keen for their attention to return to him but at the same time desperate to get the ordeal over with. The notion of leaving Philip with a photograph of himself to remember him by during the long months they were likely to be parted once the summer season was over was all well and good, but now he was here he found the practicalities of creating one highly distasteful.

'Come now, Thomas.' Said Philip, turning the smile back to him. 'Let's have a proper go this time, shall we?'

Reluctantly, Thomas dropped his hands slowly to his sides, leaning as much against the hollow and unstable column as he dared.

'Angle yourself a little towards the front.' The cameraman called. 'We want to see all of you, don't we?' He looked sideways at Philip rather than at Thomas for approval as he spoke.

'Yes, we do.' Philip concurred, his eyes fixed on Thomas across the room. 'Come on love, for me?'

Flaring his nostrils in annoyance, his cheeks flaming in embarrassment, Thomas shifted his posture slightly to stand less in profile and more at a shallow angle to the camera.

'Wonderful, now put your arms back a little further…' Said the cameraman.

Thomas closed his eyes, willing himself anywhere other than his present location, as he held his arms back, clutching at the groves of the column with his fingers, bringing his chest and torso into prominence as he did so.

'Unless you're proposing we put a bag over your head, you are going to have to do something about your face love.' Philip admonished, moving to stand closer to the cameraman to get a better sense of the view of the camera.

'Are you wanting him to be…to attention…in the photograph.' The cameraman awkwardly questioned Philip, nodding across the room to Thomas's decidedly flaccid penis.

'At this point I think we'd be lucky to just have a smile.' Philip laughed, refusing with a small shake of his head.

From his position up against the column, Thomas glared daggers at the both of them.

'Come on, love.' Said Philip gently, turning back to him. 'You know how much it means to me to have something of you to tide me over. And the things your smile does to me…'

Thomas frowned; surprised to hear Philip speaking so openly, and dangerously, in the presence of another person, no matter how debauched a line of work the other person may be in.

'I love you, and I love you for doing this for me.' Philip continued soothingly. 'And I shall be so very grateful now, and whenever I look at you when you're gone, to have you looking happy to see me.'

Thomas exhaled slowly, finding he could allow the camera and the man behind it to blur into obscurity as he looked across at Philips desperately earnest face.

His eyes grew bright and his lips drew into a smile, as they always did when reminded of the voracity of Philip's affections.

Not even the cameraman's exclamation of 'Perfect' managed to disrupt the look of promise and happiness on Thomas's face as he set the photograph in motion.

'There we go.' The cameraman finally announced. 'That's that done.'

'Oh praise be to God!' Philip said dryly in exaggerated relief, offering a small nod of thanks to the cameraman before skipping merrily round the camera to go over to Thomas.

'Thank you for this, love.' Said Philip softly, placing his hands on Thomas's naked hips as he moved in to kiss him.

'But…!' Thomas drew back in shock, his eyes darting over to the cameraman who was still pottering about decommissioning his equipment on the far side of the room.

'But what?' Said Philip devilishly, moving in again; this time succeeding in capturing Thomas's reluctant lips in a kiss.

'But he's…' Thomas began, only to be cut off by another kiss, finding himself trapped between the column and Philip.

Philip continued to kiss him.

Thomas mumbled in protest against his mouth.

Thomas's eyes widened in alarm as he felt one of Philips hands snake in between them to fondle him.

He tried to draw back, but the hollow column shifted in warning as he pushed against it.

He looked over at the cameraman again, finding him unsubtly watching as he continued to gather up his equipment.

'Mmmmph…' Thomas pushed at Philip's shoulders, gently at first but then more insistently as his discomfort grew; Philip continuing to kiss and touch him regardless of his struggles.

It wasn't until Thomas shouted into his mouth and forcibly turned his head away that Philip finally relented.

'Oh very well…' Philip drawled, stepping back.

Without another look at either him or the cameraman Thomas stalked angrily across the length of the room to retrieve his discarded clothes, cursing the distance he had to travel in order to do so.

They left the studio and travelled back to the town house in silence.

'Couldn't you see I was unhappy?' Thomas demanded the moment he and Philip were safely in the privacy of Philip's bedroom.

'Well I couldn't very well take a photograph myself, could I?' Said Philip nonchalantly as he crossed over to pour them a drink from the brandy bottle placed ready on the bureau.

'You know bloody well that's not what I'm talking about!' Thomas retorted, glaring at Philip and pointedly disregarding the glass of brandy he held out to him.

'Oh come on, love.' Said Philip wearily, replacing Thomas's glass on the drinks tray and taking a swig of his own.

'Don't you 'come on, love' me!' Thomas shouted.

'Thomas, it was just a bit of fun.' Philip said with a reproachful look.

'Not fun for me, and you sodding knew it!'

Thomas crossed his arms defensively across his chest, remaining stood stiffly by the bedroom door as Philip sank into an armchair, brandy in hand.

A heated silence fell, neither man looking at the other.

Eventually Philip glanced over to him, grimacing at the hurt he saw on Thomas's face.

'I'm sorry…' Philip said quietly. 'I got carried away. I just wish I could show you off more, you know? I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable.'

'Fuck you.'

Philip set down his brandy and was on his feet in a flash. 'I will not take that manner of address from a _servant_.' He hissed angrily, advancing on Thomas.

Thomas was not in the least bit cowed.

'Well if that's all I am to you then I hope you enjoy your bloody photograph, cos you'll be having none of me!' He bit back, turning to reach for the door knob.

'No, wait!' Philip exclaimed, his eyes widening in panic. He ran to close the remaining distance between them and put a hand out to hold the door closed as Thomas went to open it.

'For what?' Thomas demanded, not releasing his hold on the doorknob.

'Please Thomas.' Philip pleaded. 'I'm sorry. You know this is difficult for me. Please stay.'

'If a servant's what you want, then I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding another.' Said Thomas darkly, pulling at the knob and succeeding in getting the door open a few inches before Philip slammed it back shut.

'I want  _you_ , Thomas. You know I want you.' Said Philip, panting at the exertion of preventing Thomas's leaving, his neat hair and usually composed expression quite a wreck as he looked imploringly at Thomas.

Thomas gave a bitter laugh and tugged the door open again.

'Please…' Thomas blinked in surprise as Philip dropped down to his knees. 'Can you not take this as evidence of how much I want you to stay?' He said softly. Begging.

Thomas closed the door.

He stared down in astonishment at the Duke kneeling at his feet.

Philip's mouth twitched as though he were about to speak, but he elected to remain silent, imploring Thomas with his eyes.

Thomas shifted slightly to put his back against the door.

Philip followed him, on his knees.

'Are you…?' Thomas began to say softly, but halted, deciding there was an easier way to find out.

He reached down to unbutton his trousers.

Philip continued to look up at him, unguarded and pleading.

In wonder and disbelief, Thomas unclasped his braces to enable him to push his trousers and underwear down enough to free himself.

Without a word Philip moved tentatively forwards.

Thomas's mouth fell open in shock at the sight and sensation of Philip kissing the top of his penis, his nose nuzzling at the hair above.

Thomas swallowed heavily as Philip angled his head sideways to kiss him again with an open mouth, darting out his tongue a little to taste the skin.

Thomas gasped, his hand finding purchase in Philip's hair as he moved down lower to suckle at the tip of Thomas's penis; giving Thomas the briefest of hints of the heat and wetness of his mouth before withdrawing again.

It was nothing like anything Thomas had felt before.

None of their rutting against hand or thigh could compare.

In all their encounters over that long hot summer, the question of more had never been broached.

But here, here was Philip offering his mouth. To him. A servant.

That thought alone had Thomas's stomach flipping even before Philip hesitantly moved back in, mouth open, letting Thomas's penis slide in past his lips.

'Oh!' Thomas gasped at the sensation as he felt Philip's throat contract around him.

Philip spluttered and coughed. But he compensated by keeping his lips tight around Thomas's shaft as he drew back a little before moving forwards, determinedly, to try to take him in again.

He was suffering, Thomas could tell, and as inexperienced at giving as Thomas was at receiving, but God was he trying.

Just the feel of his lips, tongue and the heated wetness of his mouth and throat as they enveloped his desperately hard penis was enough to have Thomas keening in pleasure.

Almost every assault of sensation was accompanied with an entreating look from Philip, nakedly seeking approval. It was enough to break Thomas's heart.

He watched himself disappearing repeatedly inside those lips, usually so snide and aristocratically arrogant but now needful and open, felt himself sliding down against Philip's throat; never having dreamed for a moment that such a thing would have ever come to pass.

Thomas could have stayed that way, as they were, forever.

But his body had other ideas.

He tried, but the feeling was too good.

'I'm close.' Thomas was reluctantly forced to concede, loosening his hold on Philip's hair to allow him to withdraw.

But Philip didn't, burying Thomas deep inside his throat, sucking at him desperately with his mouth until he released.

Thomas watched, feeling strangely detached from his own body as Philip slowly drew back.

Thomas felt his breast swell with warmth at the slight undulation in Philip's throat as took down what Thomas had given.

Looking down at Philip, looking up at him from the floor, Thomas could scarcely believe a man could look so vulnerable.

Thomas would have given his right arm to be able to stay with him that night, but it was only his half day off, and the Crawley's were waiting.

So, with a kiss and a promise, and feeling lighter than air, he left.

'So…' Said Jimmy tentatively as Thomas fell silent. 'What happened next?'

'We…um…' Thomas paused to rub at his face. 'We exchanged letters, for a while, and then he…' Thomas continued, his voice becoming flat and monotone. 'He came to Downton, thinking to make Lady Mary his wife. He needed her money you see, and for a while they thought she might inherit when the male heirs died. That was before Matthew Crawley came.'

'And…?'

'And the idea was…' Said Thomas, his shoulders giving an involuntary tremble under Jimmy's arm. 'He would marry her and I would go with them.' Thomas shook his head sadly. 'As his valet.'

'Oh, I see.' Jimmy said, biting his lip, able to appreciate the artfulness of the plan if not able to approve of it. 'But that didn't happen?'

'No.' Said Thomas simply, staring fixedly at a spot on the floorboards ahead. 'When he found out Mary wouldn't inherit he wouldn't marry her.'

'Makes sense…' Said Jimmy softly. 'But what about you?'

Thomas's shoulders rose as he took a very deep breath. 'He said he wouldn't take me either.'

'Oh.'

'And I…' Thomas's face crumpled again as he fought to get his words out. 'I tried to blackmail him. To  _make_ him.'

Jimmy frowned. 'Blackmail him with what?'

Thomas turned his head to Jimmy and gave him a dull look by way of answer.

'Oh.' Said Jimmy softly.

'It didn't work.' Said Thomas, somewhat redundantly, smiling bitterly as he looked back down at the floor.

Jimmy grimaced. 'And then what?'

'And then nothing.' Thomas replied. 'And can't…' He turned his head towards the dscarded photograph. '…I can't believe he gave it away.'

Jimmy considered suggesting that the photographer may have made more than one copy, but he had a feeling it would't make matters better. Besides, he surmised, it was unlikely a photographer would risk the wrath of a Duke…

'I see.' Said Jimmy. 'Thomas I'm sorry.' He added, squeezing Thomas's shoulder.

'Why? I don't think I deserve any sympathy.' Said Thomas sadly.

Jimmy didn't think the moment was right to admit to precisely what he was apologising for.

So he stayed silent, his arm around Thomas, until he stopped crying.


End file.
